One couple gave me life, the other… a life
September 3, 2020
“What’s in a name? That which we call a rose by any other name would smell as sweet.” W Shakespeare
When I started dreaming about my Bnb years ago, in my mind it was of farmhouse chic without a name. I tried all sorts of catchy phrases to brand my future, but nothing really stuck, until one winter night sitting around my parents table for supper. It had been difficult for a number of years to have lengthy conversations with the two of them. Their world was small, my dad couldn’t remember much, and generally, they were getting older. I talked about my day at school, and recapped what I knew about world events, but it was hard to maintain. So I decided that I would ask questions about their youth, their courtship, our family and write down what memories they had as a way to chronicle the Gibson/McCullough family. Each week I came out with pre-scripted questions. Often we would google something — their names, my name, my brother’s names, garden flowers, music, satellite pictures of their Edmonton homes, Battle Bend. This ultimately changed our visits, and was by far the best way to entertain them. They marveled every visit as to what that phone could do.
It was one of these visits that mom shared with me how she got her name — Virginia May. My grandmother, Margaret Mary, wanted to name the baby on the way, Marion, but my grandfather Archie Bald Auld Gibson, felt it too “old fashioned,” and then looked at his tin of Virginia cigarettes and voila she was born Virginia May, on October 15, 1929. It was then that I knew The Virginia May would be the BnB name as a way to honor my mom, her life, her unwavering love to my father, of 69 years. And let’s face it, it’s pretty southern catchy.
And so it was my mother, Virginia May, along with my father, Richard Woods, who adopted me from Calgary one cold winter day shortly before Christmas, in 1967. I was one years old. Mom and Dad gave me a life filled with carefree summer days on a farm just outside of small town Stony Plain. They gave me two brothers, lots of cats and dogs and geese and chickens and horses and mini bikes and a big garden and buckets of barbies. They gave me a dime for the town confectionary store, they gave me spankings for poor behavior, they gave me a curfew I found hard to follow as a teenager. They gave me squished kneecaps if I was fidgety in church, they gave me reprimands every time my report cards said I talked too much. They gave me unconditional love when I didn’t deserve it, and they gave me tools to work hard in life. They gave me a life when another couple could not.
I was born December 8th, 1966 in a ward for unwed mothers at a Salvation Army Hospital in Calgary, Alberta, to “ Jack and Diane, two American kids growing up in the heartland…” It would not be until 2010 and 2014 that I would finally learn who these two kids were who gave me life. And it wasn’t Jack and Diane.
Judy Wolfe and Craig McGee were two kids hanging out in Chicago at the time. Craig was from Iowa, and Judy was from Michigan. Judy was in training for the airlines, and Craig was in school to become a draftsman. They fell in love as kids do, and they got pregnant.
The Vietnam War was also raging, and Craig’s friend Bert wanted to come to Canada to avoid the war. Craig also had a small problem- me. He had already enlisted to serve in Vietnam, and it was only a matter of time till he would be called. So the four decided they would venture to Canada, each taking care of the situation they were in. At the last minute Bert dropped out, so Craig and Judy made the journey to Vancouver by themselves, and arrived in late May of 1966. Without knowing the full extent of Canadian geography and Alberta winters [still not well taught in American schools…] Craig was offered a job for more money in Calgary. It was only temporary they both knew, as soon as the baby was born they would head back to the States. So on a quiet day in the summer of 1966, they pulled into Calgary in Craig’s 53 Ford. It was there 4 months later I was born. I can’t imagine the silence that filled that car on the journey home. They never really saw each other again.
When I first met each of them, the location question was the first I needed to know. I have asked many times about this decision merely from a weather point of view. California did not speak to you? Hawaii? Perhaps the warm Arizona sun? Really? Canada? Why travel to Calgary from Vancouver? They each have commented several times over the past few years of “just how cold Calgary was that winter. ” Yes. I am aware…..
I did not know Judy’s story until 2010. And oddly enough, either did anyone else in her family. I was a well kept secret until a Facebook search found this red headed lady. And so I met Jason and Jennifer, her two children who came after me. And my Michigan connection was born. Jason is a police officer, and Jennifer works in the school system. Both are married and seem relatively normal despite living life without even knowing me.
I can’t imagine that time for her. I have thought about Judy long before I knew who Judy was. When I met her in 2010, I was also a mother. I wasn’t a kid anymore who wondered who she was. My empathy for her in that moment of her life, tottering between barely an adult herself, and her whole life before her, pregnant, and the shame of her family knowing is a feeling I cannot even find words for. So I appreciate Judy in ways I cannot ever articulate. It is a single, selfless gift to give up a child you have just given birth to, so that child can have a life better than you can give.
If birth order means anything, the knowledge that I have several first born tendencies finally made sense. I was the oldest of the Michigan crew. Nature vs nurture. I could finally boss someone around, except Jason and Jennifer were a country away. I like being the leader of the pack, I have a very dominant A type personality, and never really felt being the baby of the family was where I should be — despite that is exactly how I grew up.
Being adopted is it’s own crazy for searching for our unique identity. We are supposed to feel lucky — which we don’t really see till we are well into adulthood – and that is with great families. The normal trajectory of growing up is a lot of angst as we grow into our own self. This is double angst as an adopted child. And growing up in the 70 and 80’s wasn’t a time where open storytelling of your feelings was a thing. It didn’t make sense to complain, because I just couldn’t articulate what my own insecurities were. Meeting Judy and Craig answered many questions. I feel whole. I feel grateful to know each of them.
I pondered for many years who I looked like. As a child I had red hair [Judy] that eventually went blonde. My daughter Mackenzie has beautiful red hair, and looks very much like her “cousin’ Lauren in Michigan. Why am I left handed? [ Craig is also] Why am I so weirdly clean and organized to a fault? [Also Craig]. Why do I like hot weather? [Also Craig.]
Craig’s first day in the Army was January 23, 1967. He never spoke of Calgary, Canada, or a baby to anyone. Ever. When I met him in 2014, years of that secret poured out of him. He never had children, which was probably the biggest shock to me. I was his only child, with Mackenzie now being his only granddaughter. He lives in Florida, so I have made the “sacrifice” to travel to see him twice in the winter. We both enjoy sitting by his pool. We talk politics. I made him my beer margaritas. He has shared very few stories of Vietnam. I know a young man died in his arms. While in Washington DC last year we found Lt Boyd’s name on the Vietnam Wall. Mackenzie shaded the young soldier’s name for Craig. He is a Democrat, and he likes Biden, while I am a big Kamala fan. His office is as clean and detailed as my desk at school. I recognized the placement of the stapler, the pen in the exact position it needs to be, the carefully stacked papers. Identity.
And so, with their help of identification, and all the connections I ever would need, and documents and the process of swearing they are who they are, I applied for USA citizenship through Craig and Judy. It took three years, but that blue passport with gold lettering arrived the last week of February of this year. Two weeks before the world shut down.
And this, this is how I was given my big beautiful life, how I crossed the border, and how the Virginia May came to be.
“ All of a sudden it made sense…. You can bloom no matter where you are, you don’t have to live in the sky to be a star.”